Coming back from a run, I suddenly realized that I was not twirling my keys around my fingers. Patted myself down. Nope, not in the shorts. Not in my cleavage. Ok, not at first glance. But where in the middle of the Harvard end of Brattle Street should I look further into the matter? Luckily, upon uneasily adjusting my left strap, the bright brassy head of one out of three keys (yes, you'd think I would've felt that lunp) appeared out from under the edge of a very robust strap.
Thank goodness.
Crisis averted.
I chuckled to myself and continued on home. Note to Self: find reflective velcro strap-pocket.
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